


Huerta

by aphreal



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternative Perspective, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's been a nurse at Huerta Memorial for a long time, but this patient - and the woman who comes to visit him - stand out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huerta

She’s been a nurse at Huerta Memorial – or clinics like it on Thessia before coming to the Citadel – for over a century, long enough to know that some patients catch your attention more than others, that some of them have stories you get curious about. The human biotic who came in a few weeks ago certainly turned into one of those quickly. At first it was simply amazement that he had survived such extensive injuries and showed signs of recovering from them more rapidly than anyone could have predicted. Then it became about his visitor.

The timing of her visits is unpredictable, the woman who comes to see the coma patient, but there’s a pattern to them all the same. She walks straight to his door and then hesitates, but she always goes in. She rarely says anything, simply sitting by his bedside and staring. Her face and body language are full of pain, but there are never tears. The level of tension in her posture speaks of something beyond the current situation, something unresolved. She’s a mystery, and puzzling over it fills the long hours and makes double shifts go more quickly.

 

When the patient regains consciousness for the first time – days sooner than any of the doctors predicted – he is disoriented and understandably confused. He passes back out shortly, but his brain patterns are far closer to normal sleep cycles. His prognosis improves, and the medical staff relax and stop tip-toeing around his room. She thinks you never truly get used to being around coma patients.

Later, when he wakes up for longer stretches of time, she gives in to her curiosity, dropping the inquiry casually into a conversation of idle chatter. “Your girlfriend will be glad to see you up and moving next time she comes by, I’d imagine.”

His brow furrows in confusion, the expression evident despite the extensive bruising that still covers his face. His voice is weak and raspy, not surprising given the severe damage his throat sustained. “Don’t have…” The shake of his head gets his meaning across as effectively as his words.

Clearly she miscalculated, and she’s flustered by having guessed incorrectly. “Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t have a wife or sister listed, and she visits so often that I thought you must be close. She doesn’t speak to any of us, but I just assumed…” She shrugs.

“Describe her,” he whispers, his tone intent despite the hoarseness.

She pauses for a moment, struggling to think past “haunted eyes” and “aura of worry and pain” to find physical descriptors that might be useful. “Human, Alliance uniform,” she says, thinking that may not help much. He’s Alliance himself; it probably describes most of the people he knows. “Blonde hair.” That’s an unusual trait for humans, isn’t it? “Tense, wary. She looks like she’s been through a lot.”

He nods, and she thinks there’s something like surprise mixed with relief in his eyes. She waits expectantly, but all he says is, “Former commanding officer.”

That explanation is woefully inadequate, and it’s clear he’s holding back. It isn’t her place to pry, but she can’t let it go completely. She smiles and shakes her head wonderingly. “She must care a great deal for her soldiers. I suspect she’s been in here every time she had – or could manufacture – a reason for her ship to dock at the Citadel.”

He doesn’t comment, but his expression is thoughtful as he settles back against the pillows. Recognizing signs of a convalescent reaching unexpected limits in endurance, she turns to go, dimming the lights so he can rest. The mystery will keep a bit longer. He’s not leaving any time soon, and the visitor will be back.

 

A few days later, the patient is strong enough to sit up for brief periods, and he’s getting restless. When he asks for extranet terminal access, the doctors refuse. They don’t want him reading war updates. She thinks with a smirk that the decision has as much to do with his persistent attempts to talk his way back onto active duty as with the stress of being exposed to bad news; he’s persuasive enough already without further ammunition.

Since the doctors continue stonewalling him, she’s not really surprised when he turns his efforts to her as the sympathetic nurse. She shakes her head with a smile to take the sting from her refusal. “Sorry. The doctors don’t want you poking around the news sites and getting worked up.”

He frowns, voice taking on a rough edge with frustration. “What has me ‘worked up’ is not knowing anything.”

“There’s nothing you can do about the war efforts until you’re recovered.”

“Not on a large scale, no.” He makes a sharp motion with his hand and then winces at the incautious movement. “But there’s a smaller picture. People I care about. I… need to know they’re okay. Need to tell them I am.” He shakes his head, moving more carefully this time. “Can I at least send some messages?”

Remembering the not-a-girlfriend “commanding officer”, she smiles. “I think I could arrange that, on one condition.” She raises a cautionary finger. “Only messages. No browsing around things you aren’t supposed to see or the doctors will be on both of us.”

“You have my word, ma’am.”

She watches surreptitiously as he composes and sends his messages: several attempts to track down family on Earth and one overly-casual note to an Alliance address.

 

A few days later – very few, probably the soonest an Alliance vessel could arrive from a nearby cluster – she sees a familiar woman standing in the doorway to the patient’s room. The woman hesitates longer than usual, and the nurse takes this as a cue to finally approach. “May I help you with something?”

The woman barely glances at her. “I… heard he was awake.” She gestures into the room. She speaks softly, but there’s a core of steel to her voice that matches the rigidity of her demeanor.

“He’s in and out at this point, still recovering.”

“Yeah, the doctor said he had a ways to go.” The woman shrugs in poorly-feigned casual indifference. “I had just hoped…”

“He’ll likely be awake later. If you have other business on the Citadel, perhaps you could take care of it and try again.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” She starts to leave.

The nurse knows that the “maybe” is a lie, but she still can’t let the woman just walk away. “Officer?” She’s never understood Alliance ranks or insignia; learning them seemed a waste of time given how rarely the subject comes up in her work.

The woman turns back partway, looking over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised impatiently.

“You were the only person he asked for. All of his other messages were trying to locate family.”

She sees the woman warring with herself, probably over the need to make a harsh response to the intrusion into her business. In the end, though, she simply nods crisp acknowledgement and walks away.

 

It isn’t a surprise when she sees the woman back a few hours later, seated by the patient’s bedside, having a soft conversation. She doesn’t eavesdrop on them, not exactly. But she doesn’t need to hear the words to understand the basics of the exchange. At one point, the patient takes the woman’s hand. She freezes in shock for a moment before accepting the contact. The gesture isn’t repeated, but it’s clear something has changed.

When the woman leaves, some of the tension is gone from her stance, and she moves less defensively, no longer braced for a long-delayed blow. She isn’t smiling – the nurse wonders if she even remembers how – but the set of her jaw appears determined rather than resigned.

It’s a small change, but the nurse figures it can’t hurt; the galaxy can use any sign of hope it can get right now. If she’s helped get one Alliance officer on the road back to active duty and given another one the inspiration to keep fighting for the right reasons, there are worse ways to do her part for the war effort.

 

It isn’t until she recognizes the Human Councilor coming to visit her patient that she makes some inquiries and discovers just who she’s been interacting with – the first human Spectre and, now, the second. Maybe she’s done more to help than she realized.


End file.
